The Angel and the Phantom
Chapter Three
Erik
As I twisted my way through the winding corridors which where ever so familiar to me, I almost forgot the identity of my new guest. At one point I turned expecting to see Christine standing there with open arms; waiting to come back to me. But instead I saw only a frighten child shivering in the semi-darkness. If she was nervous now, I could only imagine how she would react when we descended into the catacombs.
I stopped outside Christine's old dressing. The entire corridor had been abandoned for so long that that the dust scattered from the doorknob as I turned it. I took her hand and led her into the room, reflecting on her words
"Do you need a servant, perhaps I can work off the debt"
No, I didn't want a servant, or a lover, or a nurse. I wanted no one I just wanted to be left alone. But yet in my zealous anger, I had made a ridiculous request of that frighten idiot, only to serve as a reminder that I was still the true terror of the opera.
I would have never expected this.
The room was draped in white sheets, which looked gray from all the dust. The mirror, my passage between the surface and my world below, my only link to Christine I had, was shattered. I leaned against the wall and sighed heavily.
"The mirror." The girl said. I turned to her forgetting that I had exposed my emotions in front of her. "The broken mirror, it reflects your sad heart sir."
"A poet Mademoiselle." I whispered harshly
"An admirer of them, sir." I stared at her face. How much it was a mask like my own. It was pale and her crystal blue eyes were blank. What once must have been vibrant lips and rosy cheeks had become dull, like the dust-covered sheets. What had been so horrible in this girl's life that cause depression to spread across her face like the sickness of a soul. I gestured for her to come to me, which she did trying not to show any fear.
"Very perceptive of you. Now if you would please close your eyes." I asked She glanced up at me concerned. I knew what she was thinking, that I would rape here. "Trust me. I will not harm you. Take my word on it. There are just some secrets than cannot be shown." I assured her. While she had no right to trust me, she obeyed. I reached over to the trigger that releases the mechanisms causing the passageway to open. The gears creaked and bits of glass fell onto the floor. I guided her through the mirror and into the hidden chamber between the walls. The cold draft hit us and I felt her shivered beneath my hands. She stopped frighten and opened her eyes. The darkness surrounded us. She flew out of my grasp like a bird discovering itself trapped in a cage.
"Where are we?" I can't see you."
"I'm right behind you. Stand still. "I said placing my hands back on her shoulders
"I'm so cold sir."
I could feel her skin through the thin fabric of her dress, and I felt like ice. I shrugged off my cloak, throwing it over her. It fell over her small frame and dragged itself along the floor. "Please I need your hand mademoiselle. The passages to my home are dark and dangerous. You could get hurt very easily." She did what she was told and during our journey through the old catwalks and boiler rooms, I observed that her hands were not as delicate as I expected. True they were small and pale like the rest of her, but they were also worn and rough and some places obvious from hard work. Scrubbing and sewing I guessed. But she carried herself like a lady groomed for high society, to marry young and raise children.
Well damn society. They did nothing for me. What would society care if another person disappeared into the darkness with me? We came to the lake and she glanced shyly about her. She noticed the rose bed growing in between ivy and stone. "The roses how do they grow?" she asked.
"I found a way to have them grow without sunlight and they gather moisture from the air and the lake. Unorthodox, but effective." I explained, trying not to think of the memories of when I tended the roses to make arrangements for Christine before she performed.
"I can see why you treasure them so much. I haven't seen roses like these anywhere in France. Not only are they a work of beauty but also of science." She commented
"Are you a master gardener as well?" I asked and actually saw her smile slightly. Trying to ignore this I helped her to the boat. She was quite as I rowed the boat through the waters. I could not help myself from looking back at her reflection in the lake. I could see small tears trickle down her face. Such sadness I mused for someone who had been entitled to such privilege in life. We reached the shore, and again I offered my hand to help her step out. She stood up slowly her legs shaking. As she reached for my hand, one of her ankles twisted to the side and she started to fall. I caught her in my arms and removed her straight out of the boat before it started to rock wildly. She looked up at me in shock. "I'm sorry, monsieur. I'm afraid I have rather weak ankles." She tried to back away as if she were cowering from a grave error, but I held her fast least she fall and hurt herself again.
"No mademoiselle. You have done no wrong. Please let me help you." I pulled her up from the floor and cradled her in my arms entering my home. She was light as a feather and I noticed her extremely thin limbs as I eased her into a chair. She looked as if she would break like an expensive china doll. She sat hands folded looking up at me like a neglected pet. I cleared my throat. "Well I suppose you must be tired or hungry. May I get you anything?"
"I want to go home." She replied
I narrowed my eyes. Women, there was no pleasing them. I had at that moment a good mind to drag her back up to the surface and leave her alone on the streets. I instead took her hand yanking up again. I stormed over to the room that use to be Christine's, but decided against it. Perhaps throwing the wretch into the torture chamber for the night would teach her. I threw her down on one of the couches, the cloak failing from her shoulders. She reached to pick it up, but I got there first tossing the garment at her. "This is your home now." I hissed. Turning away I fled to my room locking the door. Locking my own self in the darkness.
I lay in my coffin staring up into the ceiling. My figures ached from playing. I could hear faint sobbing from behind the door. I knew that while I was playing she had come to the door a pounded on it furiously, but I ignored her. But now I felt compelled to open the door. I almost forgot to put on my mask and rushed back to the organ to slip it back on. To my surprise I saw her there outside my door lying curled up on the floor. Immediately I dropped to my knees and lifted her head. Her face was flushed with red stains from tears yet her neck and forehead felt like ice and were pale as a sheet. She was sleeping, I had no doubt but she continued to cough and sob. I lifted her into my arms, and carried her over to Christine's room. As she coughed, I looked down at my shirt, which was open and saw small stains of blood splatter on my shirt and chest.
Dear Lord, this girl was very sick. I cursed myself for leaving her curled up outside my down begging for her life, while I tried to find comfort in my music. I set her on the bed, removing my cloak which was she still tried to cling to. Her flimsy gown was soaked with sweat and I tried to avert my eyes from the ample amounts of flesh exposed to them. Quickly I pulled the covers of her. I had kept at least this room in my house clean; I hope that one day it would be used again. But for Christine's return not exactly for saving a young girl's life. I pulled a handkerchief and covered her mouth. I stroked her forehead trying to calm her. I could see the redness of her cheeks and eyes fades, as I brushed the falling tears away with my thumb. Her face was so soft. I was relived when her fit subsided and a healthy peach blush returned to her face.
"Sleep." I whispered. "Rest." I studied her face as she slowly slipped down towards the pillow in slumber. I realized that instead of a prisoner, I had somehow acquired instead a beautiful angel. That was what this girl reminded me up. I leaned over her face and dared to plant a soft kiss on the top of her head. It was a good thing she was sleeping and for a moment after I could not even believe myself that I had taken advantage of allowing myself that small pleasure. Kissing a women, no an angel. Christine, as much my angel as I wished her, had kissed my once and the forehead, and even in that moment of ecstasy and pleasure, I didn't let myself go to embrace her with all my passion and express my desire.
So why had I been so compelled to kiss this girl I barley knew? I pulled up a stool beside the bed stand and stared at her as her breathing returned to normal. Running my hands through my hair I ponder over my sudden wave of emotion and care that had just seemed to come out. But not everything in life was meant to be easily explained. I let my hand rest over one of her, noticing that it was in fact her flesh that was warmer than mine.
* "What is your name?" *
* "Belle Catherine du Bumount." *
Belle that meant beauty, I reflected. It was true. I wanted to wake her and ask her so many questions about her life, her past. I realized my actions were acts of desperation for wanting human contact. Some one to talk to, even to have the presence of another person with me.
But all I could now was just watch her. Her eyes were closed hopefully in pleasant dreaming. She couldn't see me, so I removed my mask from my steaming hot face. Surly it was not to great a crime for a monster to gaze upon an angel as she slept for see could not see him.
"Sleep well, ma petit belle." I whispered